


i'm not who i thought i was, either.

by sam_roulette



Series: Prompt Fills + AU Drabbles [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Attempt at reconciliation, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past stalking, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_roulette/pseuds/sam_roulette
Summary: (Prompt: JonTim; "things you said after it was all over")" “Did you really think I could have killed her? Gertrude?” "Saying sorry doesn't fix things.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: Prompt Fills + AU Drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944931
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	i'm not who i thought i was, either.

“Did you really think I could have killed her? Gertrude?” 

Jon looked up, startled at the sound of Tim’s voice. Ever since Elias’s confession, Tim had gone quiet, trailing along after the herd back to the Archives with the resignation that characterized a lot of his actions these days. Fingers twitching where they rested, having frozen on their way to the mug of pens on his desk, Jon asked, “W-What?”

“Did you,” Tim asked slowly, “think I’m the type of person to kill someone?”

“I,” Jon wanted to end that off with _hardly think it’s relevant,_ but the truth was, it was. It was terribly relevant, and terribly present. That present sat heavily underneath his ribs, sinking in with the force of Tim’s stare. “I don’t know what I was thinking at the time. It was- it.” He licked his lips, eyes glancing down at the paper-strewn wood in front of him as though perhaps the faded smiley face sun on the calendar could tell Jon how to answer. It wouldn’t. Jon didn’t deserve the luxury. “It wasn’t all you, I. Suspect. Or rather, I suspected _everyone,_ and you just got in the way.”

“Not everyone gave you the key to their house,” Tim muttered, voice tight. Jon remembered a time when Tim was easy to read; now was a veneer of something blank. “That doesn’t answer my question. Have I ever looked like a killer to you?”

“Of course not,” Jon said immediately because that much was the truth. No matter his suspicions or the paranoid break, Tim had never been someone who Jon could imagine seeing the mugshot of in the papers. He could imagine all sorts of other things; the wine-drunk kisses during Research, or the times when Tim had smushed his cheek against Jon’s collarbone and tried to curl up small enough to fit in his lap while laughing, or the time spent critiquing his interior design. But he didn’t imagine Tim with his finger on the trigger; not anymore.

Tim didn’t say anything. His face was not like anything Jon could have imagined. It held no emotion.

“… Of course not. You are,” Jon continued, unnerved by the silence and unnerved by Tim and unnerved by himself and the sum parts of unnervation winding around his lungs, “one of the most genuine, open, and- and lovely people that I know. That I…” He almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, so he swallowed and said instead, “You didn’t deserve it.”

“I thought I was crazy.” Tim said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was still monotone. "That there was something I was missing."

“You’re didn't! You’re not,” Jon worked his jaw for a moment, scrabbling for words, “I-I hadn’t known you felt… like that.”

“Hm! Could’ve fooled me,” Tim said, breaking the poker face only to sneer. “Thought it was like,you were playing with me, trying to get me to reveal “evidence”- see if you could tell me, enough times, that I probably killed somebody, and see if that would do anything. Almost made me think that maybe I…” 

“Oh…” Jon breathed, “Good Lord,” He watched the sag of Tim’s shoulders. Everything about him seemed so sunken down- his eyes sunken into his face, false smile sinking into nothing, body sinking in on itself, and everything seeming so, so tired. “I’m sorry, Tim. Truly, I am.” He stood slowly, reaching a hand out, thinking that maybe if he could take Tim’s hand he could… he didn’t know what he could do. “I didn’t-” 

Tim stepped back. He didn’t flinch, not in any full-body way; he didn’t make a run for it. But he was looking at Jon’s hands like there was something poisonous hiding within them, breath hitching somewhere in his throat. And he’d taken a step back.

"Didn't what?" Tim snapped, hackles rising once again when Jon cut himself off, "Didn't mean it? Oh, you just didn't _mean_ to torment me for weeks? Didn't mean to make me think that you'd come into my flat in the middle of the night, or- or that you were just going to _be there,_ every time I left my house, just waiting? Just watching? That's what I'm supposed to take away from this?"

"I didn't want to hurt you," Jon said. "I never wanted to..."

There was a moment where Tim just stared between Jon's face and his hand, slowly lowering towards the desk again. Tim said, "Well. You did. You did far more than just 'hurt' me."

Jon could only say again, “I’m so, so sorry.” 

“… Yeah. Suppose you must be.” Tim said, turning away. He started to leave.

Jon tried to say, “Tim-” _please don’t go- not yet, not when this can still be saved_

“Don’t worry.” Tim said, glancing over his shoulder, “I got 'round to changing the locks eventually.”

The door to Jon’s office was slammed a little too loudly. Jon stood behind his desk and simply looked, unable to think of anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> guess it's time to go lay down and think about season 3 Tim for 5 hours now


End file.
